Heirlooms
by Peachdreamsandperseus
Summary: "He's seen a lot, much more than most people will in an entire lifetime. You know, if objects could talk, I think this one would have a tale or two to tell. I think perhaps it's your turn to add to that," - This is the story of four Crawley men and a little white dog.


_**Okay, so I don't know how I feel about this, but I just needed to write something to get my brain working again after the end of these past few weeks of hellish revision. Enjoy and reviews = love :) **_

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He doesn't know what to do – he feels so helpless each and every time he hears his daughter's cries of anguish. She's irritated, the poor little lamb, and there's nothing he can do to stop it. Teething, it seems, is a nasty business. For now though, she seems alright – Anubis, his faithful golden Labrador, seems to be providing her with a welcome distraction (although he's perhaps not finding his young mistress pulling on his tail quite as entertaining as she is). She looks up at her father from her position on his lap and giggles happily, her big brown eyes filled with mirth. He smiles warmly as he gently runs a hand across the smattering of soft dark hair on her head. Everyone keeps telling him that she'll be a true beauty when she's older and, not for the first time, he can see why. She may not be the son and heir that everyone – himself included - had hoped and prayed for, but she was his. His darling girl who has brought so much light into his life these past couple of months that he honestly doesn't understand how they've lived without her.

Two weeks later, Robert returns from London with a present for his daughter. He'd seen it in a tiny toy shop near Covent Garden and had instantly been reminded of that afternoon in the library. She looks at her Papa curiously, and then at the small stuffed dog he's placed in her tiny hands as though she's not entirely sure what to do with it. In the end though, the infant decides that she's quite content to merely suck on the creature's ears, gurgling happily as she's reunited with her father at last.

_**-xxx-**_

**1917**

All the men have their own little rituals. Some smoke, some dress in a certain order (always the right boot first, things like that), others pen letters to mothers and sweethearts. Captain Mathew Crawley and Private William Mason are no exceptions to this.

William prays, as many of them do – some aloud and others, like him, sit in silent contemplation. Matthew is always fascinated as he watches them with their bowed heads, eyes closed, and hands grasped together, trembling slightly and damp with sweat as the nerves begin to kick in. He doesn't know how they do it, but they seem so focused, so oblivious to the carnage that's going on around them. Matthew admires their faith, but he prefers to put his in something much more concrete...

Her.

Not exactly her, but rather the favour she gave him, like Guinevere to Lancelot, is what he puts his faith in. His ritual, it seems, is to pocket that small white dog she presented to him in a world that seems a million miles away from here. It represents everything he has to keep fighting for and, while the men know not to ask why it's so special to him, they all know that as long as Captain Crawley has his good luck charm with him, they'll live to see another day.

He just hopes to God they're right.

_**-xxx-**_

**1932**

Eleven year old Archie Crawley is terrified to say the very least. He's never normally afraid of anything, especially during the summer months when he finds himself off on an all manner of adventures across the grounds of Downton with Cousin Saoirse when she comes to visit from Ireland with Aunt Sybil and Uncle Tom. She's by far his favourite – his brother Robbie and Cousin Teddy are too busy off on their own adventures to join in their games, and Cousin Lola is such a bore sometimes that they rarely bother to ask her – he'd once heard his Mama refer to Uncle Anthony as being very much the same, so Archie suspects this is where she gets it from.

He'll miss his brother and his cousins something terrible while he's away at school, but he knows that coming to Eaton is the start of yet another big adventure. He snaps out of his daydream as he feels his father's hand on his shoulder.

"I want to give you something" Matthew says. "A lucky charm of sorts. Your Mama gave it to me a very long time ago now, in fact, I don't even know if she knows I still have it."

"What is it?" Archie asks curiously.

Matthew pulls a small, once white, stuffed dog out of his coat pocket and hands it to his eldest son. "He's seen a lot, much more than most people will in an entire lifetime. You know, if objects could talk, I think this one would have a tale or two to tell. I think perhaps it's your turn to add to that," he says with a smile.

"Thank you," Archie replies, taking it and placing it in his own pocket. "Papa, did... did it go to war with you?" he asks, noting that even now the thing still seems to be covered in mud.

Matthew nods. "Yes, yes it did," he looks over at Mary who is deep in conversation with a woman he vaguely recognises as being at their wedding. "And if that little fellow can get me through a war, I'm quite sure you'll make it through your first term here just fine."

They both laugh and, for the first time, it strikes Matthew just how alike his wife and son are. Everyone has always said that Archie is Matthew in miniature, save for the rich, chocolate coloured hair that he's inherited from Mary. That's not all though, they have the same mannerisms, the same courage and fierce loyalty. The boy is without a doubt a Crawley and, in this moment, Matthew is immensely proud of his son and all that he will go on to achieve.

"I'll keep it safe," the boy says.

"Yes, your mother expects it returned without a scratch."

"I promise, Papa." With that, he embraces his father one last time and bids his mother a fond and loving smile before being ushered inside.

Matthew feels Mary's gloved fingers entwine with his own as she catches up with him at last. In return, he kisses her cheek and sighs wearily.

"What did you say to him?" she asks.

"Oh, nothing much really," he replies. "I was just giving him a little something for luck. Such **good** luck."

His wife smiles at the bittersweet memory, clutching her husband's hand even tighter in her own.

"Such good luck indeed."

**__****-xxx-**

**1948**

The whisky burns his as he sinks another. At this rate, he'll have fallen asleep before this has even begun. He's been through a war and seen things, terrible things, that will resonate deep within his very soul for the rest of his days. He came out of it relatively unscathed and yet it's this day that terrifies him more than any other. It's the beginning of yet another new chapter in his life and that both scares and excites him at the same time. He smiles fondly to himself as he remembers the day he met Lady Isabella Dixon when she'd been working as a nurse during the war. She'd reminded him so much of his aunt, a woman whom he admires immensely, and he'd loved her from the very beginning. The sons of the Earl and Countess of Grantham were quite the catch, or so it was said, and both boys can remember having girls flung at them by eager mothers from the time they were about fifteen. With Isabella though, it had been different... she was the one.

As he fixes his hair in the mirror, his father's words, spoken so long ago now that they're like an echo of a bygone era, come back to him. "If you find a woman and you love her... marry her. It's as simple as that. Life is far too short to sit around wondering 'what if?' Sometimes you just have to take a chance... some things you just know are right."

This is right. What he is doing is so right. **They **are so right. Last night, he'd spent what seemed like hours staring at old family photographs in the library. He's decided that if he and Isabella can have even a fraction of the amount of love and success in their own marriage as his parents have in theirs, he will be a very happy man indeed.

He's distracted from his musings by a knock on the door. He looks over his shoulder to see Archie standing there, balancing his eighteen month old daughter, Lydia, on his hip.

"Still preening?" he asks, laughing. "Honestly, you've taken longer to get ready than Mama."

"Sorry, am I late?"

Archie shakes his head. "No," he replies. "Which makes a change... We came to give you something actually. What have we got for Uncle Robbie?" he asks, briefly turning his attention to his little girl.

"You!" she proudly exclaims, holding something out to her favourite uncle.

"For me?" Robbie asks his niece. "Well what have we got here?" he examines what she's just given him. It's a small stuffed toy, a dog by the looks of it. It's clearly seen better days, but Robbie has a sneaking suspicion he knows the story behind it.

He looks up at his brother, the grin on the older man's face confirming what he knows. "Is this what I think it is?" he asks anyway.

Archie nods. "Yes. Mama gave it to Papa in, I think, nineteen-sixteen to take to war with him. He gave it to me on my first day at Eaton and it went to war with me too... Now I'm giving it to you."

"For luck?"

"For luck. Not that you and Isabella need it... you're wonderful together, everyone can see it."

Robbie laughs. "You sound like Niamh," he says, referring to their youngest cousin. "Anyway, shouldn't you hold onto it, it'll be Lydia's turn soon enough."

Archie laughs and shakes his head, pressing a kiss to his daughter's rich brunette curls. "No it won't. She won't even be allowed to speak to a boy until she's at least thirty."

"You really do love being a father, don't you?"

"There's nothing quite like it. I didn't think I'd be ready for it but... I suppose you could say you and I learnt from the best."

"Indeed we can. Where is he anyway?"

"Downstairs with Mama and Grandmamma."

"I'll be down in a minute. I'm almost ready."

Archie smiles fondly at his little brother. "Alright, well, don't be too long. Apparently we're going to a wedding."

"Really, nobody told me," he replies sarcastically. "Bye Lydia," he adds as his niece waves at him enthusiastically.

"Bye Unc Ob!"

As silence descends once more, he slips on his jacked and sighs. This is it, the day he has been waiting for for so very long now. He's about to leave before he remembers the token given to him and slips it into his pocket. He needs it for luck, after all...

Such good luck.


End file.
